Vincent: Her Warlock Protector Book 5

by Hunter, Hazel

  She hesitated, ready again to fight.

  He pressed the sharp edge of the blade against her nipple, his thumb on the opposite side like he was going to peel an apple.

  Reaching toward his waistband she was stunned when his left fist plowed into her forehead, the back of her head colliding again with the tiles in a bright flash of pain.

  He shoved her away as he stepped backward out of the shower.

  “Like I would ever let you touch my cock." Then he knelt down in front of her, eye-to-eye with where she had slid down the wall to slump. “Don't worry. I'll be back to finish you off."

  Paulina lay on the bloody shower floor and listened as the house door closed, followed by an engine starting. There was silence after the crunching of tires on the gravel parking lot had faded. Slowly she managed to sit up and then crawl. In the cabinet under the sink, her quaking hands managed to find gauze and tape. She bandaged herself as best she could, applying pressure to help stop the bleeding. Though it was the last thing she thought capable of, she pulled herself upright and stripped.

  Ten years of blissful idle in Galveston had made her complacent, trusting, the house open to all—and fucking Vincent Harcourt had led a Templar right through her front door.

  Though she stumbled to the bedroom, it wasn’t the bed she sought. She pulled her suitcases from the closet, some fresh clothes to wear, and dug her phone out of her purse.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  LIONEL PARKED THE rented F-150 outside Blown Beauty Salon and waited for Amanda to leave. Vincent's Charger was nowhere in sight.

  "Amanda is the one who usually cuts my hair,” Hugh said.

  "Today it needs to be the other one. Just find a way to tell her what we talked about."

  "What are you going to be doing?"

  "I have somewhere I need to be."

  Hugh opened the door of the truck then looked back over his shoulder at Lionel.

  "Just for the record, I think this is a shit idea."

  He stepped out and slammed the door hard enough to rock the truck.

  Lionel waited until he could see Hugh sitting in the chair, under a cape, chatting away with the Asian woman. Then he drove away.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  THOUGH THE DAY had taken some strange turns, Amanda found she was excited to be heading home. If Vincent could glue together even a vaguely plausible reason for his behavior, she would be helpless to take him back. She already knew it. Though it was ridiculous, she had even caught herself daydreaming about a future with him. Maybe it was having known each other as teenagers, that instant familiarity and recognition filling in the gaps. Or maybe she was just so ready for a relationship and Vincent seemed so perfect. Either way, she was happy.

  When Aimee's photo popped-up on her buzzing cell phone, she turned down the song she had been singing along with and hit the switch on her Bluetooth headset.

  "Hey! What's going on?"

  "Keep in mind everything I am about to say could be total bullshit."

  "Okay,” Amanda said, her mood dimming at the tone in Aimee’s voice. She turned the Mini into her driveway and parked.

  "So, Hugh came in for his 'don't cut my hair, but cut my hair' thing and it turns out he knows Vincent and Lionel."

  "Who's Lionel?"

  Both hands were full of bags as she walked up the stairs to her front door.

  "Pasty-faced religious weirdo from this morning.”

  “Did Hugh happen to mention why the hell that guy threw a bottle of holy water on me?”

  “It’s some kind of PTSD thing. He freaks out when people get too close to him.”

  “Oh,” Amanda said, surprised. In fact, she felt a little bad for him.

  “It’s sadsies,” Aimee said. “Anyway, Hugh was talking about how Vincent blew into town looking for you."

  Amanda struggled with the lock.

  "No,” she said. “We met…I mean we met again after–”

  "No, that's what I am trying to say. It wasn't an accident. It's what this company he works for, Magus Corps or something like that. That's what they do. They go looking for people who might, you know, be into witchcraft, and insinuate themselves into their lives. Like, seriously creepy shit."

  "I'm not into witchcraft,” she said, her heart beginning to race.

  The basket that contained her journal and the various spells she collected over the years was sitting on the floor next to the sofa.

  "I know, right? The really weird part is that they're only interested in people who are totally into the scene. Once he figures out you aren't, he's gone. Hugh was making hints that there might be things way worse than that, but he didn’t say."

  "How does Hugh know any of this?”

  “Something about how he and Lionel have been friends for years. You know how he gets sometimes, and I stopped listening, but the thing about Vincent was really bothering me. I’m sorry, but I thought you should know.”

  "No, it’s…well it's not good, but I'm, well, not glad, but…thank you."

  Amanda hung up, her nerves on edge once again. She stared at the blank phone. Hugh said one thing, Vincent said another, but he was on his way over to explain. Something didn’t feel right. Why would Hugh lie? It occurred to her that there was one person who might be able to help. She hit the quick dial button.

  “Mom?”

  “Amanda, I’m so glad you called.”

  It was good to hear her voice. For a few minutes, Amanda just listened to it and the small talk. But eventually she had to get down to business.

  “Are you still friends with Mrs. Harcourt? I ran into Vincent the other day.”

  She was thirty-one years old and caught herself holding her hand over her eyes so her mother would not see her lying. Her mom, however, was thrilled at the prospect of a hometown boy. She said she’d do a little digging and call her back.

  By the time Amanda had showered, slipped on the slinky black dress, and finished her make-up, her mom called.

  “He’s an undercover investigator for a company called Magus Corps. And his mother would like him to call.”

  Somehow the information was not has helpful as Amanda had hoped.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  VINCENT STRAIGHTENED HIS tie in the mirror, smoothed the front of his shirt then stood back. There was a sheen, almost a shimmer, to the charcoal gray material of his suit. With the black eye and busted knuckles he looked like a New Jersey mobster. He was grimacing at himself when his cell phone rang.

  "Good evening,” Louis said. “How is that whole undercover surveillance thing going?"

  Louis's reaction to any perceived disaster was to speak fluent sarcasm.

  "Does everyone know?"

  "I had to intercept official inquiries from Galveston Police Detective Daniel Ramirez to the FBI, CIA, Homeland Security, GCHQ, and freakin' Interpol. What did you do to him? He is a thorough and thoroughly pissed-off human being. GCHQ? Who even thinks to contact MI-5 over a parking lot fistfight? And those are just the official inquiries. Through his personal channels, who knows what hell he is going to be able to dig-up. You're in the shit here, Vincent.”

  “That’s what you’re for.”

  Louis sighed. “I realize the bulk of your day was spent creating a national security emergency, but have you put any actual effort into securing Amanda Kirkus?”

  “Things are going well. Really well.”

  There was a beat of silence before Louis said, “You’re sleeping with her, aren’t you? That’s not really part of the plan. Wanna tell me how you are going to fix this?”

  Vincent closed his eyes, inhaled deeply through his nose, held it, then exhaled slowly through his mouth.

  "I am going to bring in Amanda Kirkus,” he said, smoothing his tie. “Then, eventually, I’ll marry her."

  "Oh, for fuck's sake."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  BEING WILLING TO do what the other guy would not do, that was what was going to win this war. Lionel's mission was to recruit the ex
orcist. The reason the Templars continued to exist was the elimination of all witches and warlocks.

  The shower beat against Lionel's back, the water scalding red streaks down his pale skin as he tried to scrub away the last few hours.

  The Detective was right, after such a memorable introduction to the local authorities I am not going to get away with killing someone on this island without sticking my head through a noose.

  He used a nail brush to scrub his hands for the third time as he assured himself he had done the right thing. Unless someone is bleeding on the floor, Wiccans turn to their coven leaders or Magus Corps rather than the local authorities. The nail brush was thrown to the floor of the shower in exchange for the loofa which sat on the shower ledge.

  If this forces the coven leader to bolt, the coven will scatter.

  Skin scraped raw, he stepped out of the shower. Make them run and they will kill themselves. Looking at himself in the mirror over the sink, he stared into his own pale, icy eyes. He hardly recognized the person who stared back. Only a sick bastard enjoyed the ugliness required. He still liked to think of himself as not quite that sick a bastard. Confused, yes. Temperamental, certainly. Sick? Not yet.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  IT WAS LIKE being in a manual transmission car with a missing gear. At least that was how Vincent felt as he sat across the table from Amanda, a candle burning between them. She was dressed to kill, the dress clinging to her in all the right places. And yet from the moment he’d picked her up, there’d been something guarded about her, something awkward. Anger he’d expected, but not this. His attempt at conversation in the car had been equally disastrous, the apology for the punch-up falling on Amanda’s deaf ears.

  There was a lobster tail and a steak on the way and more than enough stilted conversation to go around. He decided to take the headlong approach.

  “The Magus Corps exists to protect witches,” he said.

  Amanda looked at him through her eyelashes, glass of wine paused halfway to her lips.

  “Yeah, you’ve said that.”

  “I do a lot of undercover work, there is a lot of travel. But not so much I’m not around.”

  "I know."

  Vincent knew his face held surprise, but he didn’t try to hide it.

  "I called your mom,” she said.

  "What?"

  Their food arrived, and the waitress handed Vincent a stack of cloth napkins to go with the lobster bib.

  "Okay, my mom called your mom,” Amanda said when she’d left. “No one really understands what you do, but I get the basics, I think."

  She picked up her fork and knife, looked at her plate, and sighed.

  His plate was an ocean of butter in which swam a lobster.

  “I think you should join a coven,” he said. “I happen to know of one with an opening.”

  “You want to tell me about that fight in my parking lot this morning?”

  She set the knife and fork down, folded her hands in her lap, and waited.

  Vincent’s jaw clenched. That was only going to complicate things. And it had nothing to do with Amanda.

  “I see,” she said, picking up the fork and knife again. This time she cut into the steak.

  Vincent picked up a lobster claw.

  “I forgot these,” the waitress said, and put a pair of lobster crackers on the table and walked away.

  “I’m not even a full-on witch,” Amanda said lowly. “I’m just practicing.”

  With the butter-slick lobster in hand, Vincent paused.

  “What if I said you could do more than collect spells in a book?”

  She could hardly meet his gaze. “I don’t know,” she said looking down.

  This was not how he’d seen the evening playing out. Something had changed, and he was damned if he knew what. Pressing his lips into a thin line, he stared down at the claw in his hands. He used both hands to pry it apart. But as the shell cracked, warm butter trapped inside splashed into his good eye.

  “Gods,” he cursed, picking up one of the napkins. The butter burned.

  “Are you all right?” Amanda asked.

  Though he wasn’t glad to be blind in one eye, the guarded look had finally fallen from her face, and her voice sounded normal for the first time this evening.

  “I think you are going to need to drive,” he said.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  PRESSED FACE-TO-face in her small bathroom, Amanda carefully ran the warm washcloth around Vincent’s bloodshot eye.

  “Better?” she asked.

  “I’m usually much cooler than this.”

  “I hope not,” she said, and it was true.

  A small voice in her head had not stopped nagging her. He had lied about meeting her by coincidence. And yet, at moments like these, he seemed so transparent—and attractive.

  “And I don’t usually look so pirate-y.”

  “You look great to me,” she said, then caught herself. “How are you feeling?” she said quickly.

  “Not that bad,” he said with a little smile.

  In the confines of the small bathroom, he didn’t have to move much to slide up against her. Effortlessly, he trapped her hips between the sink and his hips, his hands wrapped around the edges of the small counter as he leaned in.

  When they kissed the tiny voice was extinguished. Amanda did not care what brought him into her life again. She dropped the washcloth. There was nothing that mattered beyond this. Her hands glided down the hard muscles of his arms as his lips coaxed hers apart. The fresh smell of aftershave rose from his heated skin as his mouth moved from hers to kiss across her chin, then along her jaw. Hot breath panted in her ear as his hands pulled the tight skirt of her dress up over her hips.

  Vincent nudged his knee against hers and she spread her thighs, her knees resting over his where they pressed against the under-sink cabinet.

  “The things I am going to do to you,” he whispered in her ear.

  She nearly melted. A tug to the earlobe between his teeth then he sucked his way down her neck. Her thighs trembled with each stroke of his palms against her bare skin.

  She leaned back against the mirror as her hands traced the smooth lines of his abs, scratching against the hard wall of muscle when his fingers skimmed over her still clothed sex. He pitched forward pinning her against the cold glass of the mirror, his wet mouth on hers as his fingers stroked her again, then again until she groaned around his tongue.

  When he pulled back, she reached down and popped open the button on his trousers.

  “Not yet,” he said his voice husky.

  He knelt down in front of her dragging her soaked bottoms with him then lifted her right knee over his shoulder.

  Breath caught in her throat. She gasped as she looked down her body to see her leg dangling down his back while his hot breath blew across her core. For a long moment they stayed like that as he gazed into her eyes before he said, “Spread your legs for me.”

  She clutched at the edges of the countertop, locked in his gaze as he edged forward, tip of his wet tongue just visible between his parted lips. His hands cupped and squeezed her cheeks. She felt captured, yet was unwilling to look away. The first exquisite silken slip of his tongue forced the last of the air from her lungs and left her unable to draw breath until the spell was broken. Head thrown straight back, her moan echoed around the tiled room. He teased and taunted, took her to the edge and brought her back until she was covered in sweat, wrecked, hands twisted in his silver hair. Just when she thought she couldn’t stand any more, her climax shocked her. He sucked on her then, as she spiraled out of control, lights flashing behind her closed eyes. The ecstasy and release of it spread between her legs, up into her belly, and then raced up her core. She groaned with the agony and pleasure of it, until finally he released her.

  Vincent kissed his way back up her body, taking the dress off over her head. She shivered, thighs trembling with such force that she could no longer stand.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
>
  VINCENT SWEPT HER up in his arms before she could fall and carried her to the bed. Her head lolled back on the pillow as he gently laid her down on the open sheets. Before he climbed in after her, he paused for a moment to take her in. Her lithe body glistened with sweat. Though her eyes were still closed, her hands smoothed down the flat of her belly.

  “Oh gods,” she said breathlessly. “That was…that was…”

  He couldn’t stop from grinning. He’d done this. And though his arousal strained in his pants, she was exhausted. He dropped them to the floor and climbed into bed from the other side. Slowly he hauled her body to his to spoon tight against her back in the middle of the bed. A spread of kisses was delivered to her shoulder, neck and ear as he settled against her. He reached around her and cupped her breast.

  “Please,” she murmured dreamily, nearly asleep. “Please don’t let me be just part of your job.”

  Vincent’s heart constricted in his chest.

  Amanda could never be just that.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  THURSDAYS AT THE Blown Beauty Salon was their busiest day with both Aimee and Amanda booked from open to close. Amanda ran out the door with just enough time to make it to the last tarot card class of the week. Ostensibly she called Vincent to confirm he was still coming by later, but really she just wanted to hear his voice.

  Though it was where they reconnected, she did not ask him to join her at the class. It was the desire to have a break, not from Vincent per se, but the entire emotional roller coaster. One hour where she had nothing to do but look at some pictures and sit in a beautiful garden under a heat lamp shuffling cards.

  But there was only one light on inside The Tree of Knowledge when Amanda arrived; hers the only car in the parking lot. Paulina met her at the garden gate and welcomed her in with the last phrase Amanda had expected to hear: "We need to talk."